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My mom is coming to visit in March! I am very excited and it will be here before I know it. With that in mind, we had a discussion about what to pack and my mom expressed a desire to “not look like a tourist”. I know the feeling well. Selemon and I are planning a trip right now and I too want to be prepared and fit in. That said, when my mom hesitated about looking like a tourist I didn’t think about shoes or coats. My only thought was to mutter “just don’t block the damn sidewalk”.

Because really no one cares what you’re wearing or doing. We only start to care when you suddenly stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Ugh, that’s the worse. Or blocking the stairs to the subway. Or walking in big groups and therefore taking up the whole sidewalk. Basically, just don’t get in the way.

And that reminded me of this fantastic GIF guide to NYC. I can’t paste it all here, but click this link to be taken to a very thorough (and adorable) rundown of all the things you should know before an arrival in the big city.

The truth is, I’ve been here all along. Plugging away. Walking down streets (dodging the puddles of dog urine that fill our New York sidewalks), trying to convince myself I’m not craving a bagel with scallion cream cheese and lox (I am craving a bagel with scallion cream cheese and lox), and sort of hating January.

I think January sucks no matter where you are.

Freezing Minnesota or mild New York, its just a weird in-between month. Between the holiday hangover of too much everything, and something, anything, better. Let’s just hit fast forward.

So, while writing makes me significantly happier, I’ve been avoiding it. Like taking my probiotic tablets and showering everyday, I avoid it, because while it makes me feel better….ugh, the effort. And I don’t have anything interesting to say anyway.

Mostly I’ve been working out. What?!? That just came out of left field, but its true. I got a Classpass (which I’m embarrassed to say Selemon got me because it sounds so…well, eye-rolly…”my husband cares about my fitness”…ugh, right?) but I really have wanted this since I moved here. truly.

It’s a membership that lets you work out at a bunch of gyms. So I have spent my days of January trying hot yoga, and bootcamps, and aerial yoga, and spin, and pilates, and all that jazz. Dudes, I love it. My arms are shaping up and I have something to do every day. I think they should subsidize it for all unemployed people. Public health, ya’ll.

In other news, I finally got things finalized with NYU and thanks to some awesome negotiation coaching from a friend I managed to eek out a significant amount more than I was initially offered, which actually makes me happier than…well, the offer itself. Not really, but it makes me happy, you know?

So I’ve been spending my days working out, waiting to start actual working, and wishing January away.

Ugh, I hate wishing time away. It’s so wasteful. But January just sucks so I hardly feel bad about it.

Today the city was shut down. We got 8 inches of snow. I’m not blaming the mayor here, I think he did what was best. It’s hard managing the biggest city evah with millions taking public transit and crazy weather patterns. Better safe than sorry.

But all this snow meant I really wanted some ramen. Oh man I could taste the salty, smokey broth warming my mouth. The slurp of the noodles. the perfect creaminess of the eggs. Oh god lord, its heaven. So I walked to our ramen spot but it was closed for the storm, so I walked to another. Closed. A third. Closed. What is the world coming to?!?! But as a result of this epic Ramen Odyssey (that its official name now) I witnessed a city that was in the glorious throws of a ridiculous age-indiscriminate snow day. Kids were out of school, adults were out of work, and NYU students were standing around smoking (that’s what they usually do, but they seemed to smile more). It was lovely to see and added a festive air to the whole thing. A city out playing in the snow. Adorable, but better with some ramen in my belly.

I eventually found some on St. Marks and it kinda sucked.

I guess that’s a bit like my January. You have high hopes, you try really hard, and its still always a bit of a let down.

Selemon and I adore the Food Network chef Ina Garten and her husband, Jeffrey. In fact, after watching an episode last night Selemon and I laid in bed and talked about what was so great about them and if we could ever be “Ina and Jeffrey”. Strange? Probably. Adorable? Definitely.

In the episode we watched Ina and Jeffrey were in the city (they live in the Hamptons and Jeffrey spends his weekdays teaching at Yale…just in case you were curious) So they were in the big city and planning a picnic in Central Park. Like I said, super dang adorable. To prep for the picnic, Ina went to Russ and Daughters, a Jewish deli/appetizer spot in the Lower East Side. Selemon isn’t usually one for random explorations of the city, so when he suggested we check it out, I happily agreed.

So on a dreary, snowy/rainy day (we still haven’t had a proper snow in NYC) we headed East on Houston Street to Russ and Daughters.

As a quick primer, Russ and Daughters has been around forever, or as their website tells me, 1914. It’s known for its pickled and smoked fish, and as this episode with Ina demonstrated, bagels with cream cheese and lox. If you want to learn more, check it out here.

Like all good, well-known places in New York City we squished into a large mass of people in a small space. This is pretty much par for the course at this point. To guard against any risk that I was over-glamorizing this New York experience, here is a photo of too many people in a tiny room. You see that number on the wall? That 76? We are 94. At one point I had to move because I turned around to what I swear was an older man appearing to lick the faux fur hood of my coat. Maybe it got in his way, maybe I caught him at a strange moment of sticking out his tongue. One will never really know. But hi, New York, thanks again for being so weird.

Lots of spreads, roe, and the beloved “smoked trout mousse”

So many fish options! I tried the belly lox (it’s what Ina chose) but the salt-curing left it a bit too salty for me. Instead, I opted for the Scottish Salmon and Selemon chose the Gaspe Nova. The smoked salmon really was incredibly silky and delicious.

Hi, Darling!

More spreads and salads, including a chopped liver salad in the upper left corner. We weren’t brave enough to try that, but if liver is your thing, I bet its fantastic.

Waiting for our bagel sandwiches to be assembled!

Then I had to stop by The Bean and get a coffee because you just can’t eat a bagel sandwich without some coffee. The Bean is a super cute little coffee shop that allows dogs inside, which means I was able to pet some puppies and make friends with them while waiting for my cup. (of course, I went home and promptly began looking up rescue dogs…for the millionth time)

Overall, the sandwiches were good but I won’t go through all that trouble again. I prefer my bagel a bit fluffier than their smaller, chewy bagel but the smoked fish was spot on.

A few months ago I I was in H&M browsing the men’s sweater department, which is where all good sweaters are found. I stumbled upon a sweatshirt that said “Home is Where” and my mind, without missing a beat, filled in “where the heart is”. It was a cute shirt stating “home is where the heart is”. I considered buying it, but eventually weighted my dubious financial state and walked away.

I’ve always been a bit of a homebody. Always the girl proclaiming I would live next door to my parents.

And yet I find myself living in, and loving a city, only one of them has ever even visited.

It may sound strange, but among a family that has almost unanimously chosen to live on gravel roads, my affection for city lights feels a bit like a betrayal. Loving this thing that is so foreign from my roots, turning away from what is.

Similar to the way I tried, for so many years, to love lefse. I just never could. Regardless of how much butter or brown sugar, or white sugar, or jam. Everyone had a suggestion to make lefse fantastic, but I just never could crave nor love it. I ate it because I wanted to love it. I wanted to feel Norwegian. I wanted to feel like family. So I rolled up cold lefse pieces and crunched through grainy sugar and tried, dammit, to play along with the script.

In that way, I fear I can’t love the land my great-grandparents cultivated in Minnesota and still love the energy, possibility, and acceptance this big city gives me.

So, shortly before my departure date back to Minnesota I was back in an H&M scouring the racks for a cheap New Years Eve outfit when I found myself, once again, standing in front of that “Home is Where” shirt. This time it was on the sale rack, and maybe we can blame those reduced circumstances for the shift from my previous perception, because suddenly my brain replaced “Home is Where…the heart is” with “home is where…?” There was a big, ‘ol question mark at the end of it. And despite its awesome cut and a reduced price, I turned away. That question mark that had suddenly appeared in my brain couldn’t be shaken. A question mark that suddenly seemed pretty spot on, and a bit too sad for me.

Life went on. I packed my things, I walked to the subway, took the A train to Penn Station, bought a rail ticket to New Jersey, took the airtran from NJ to my terminal and boom! An hour and a half later, I was on a plane destined for Minneapolis, Minnesota.

I was on my way home.

But like I said, home is a complicated thing. Years ago, my parents moved away from my childhood house in Fargo, North Dakota, and I’ll be honest, I felt a bit displaced at first. At the time, I had considered this a betrayal to the memories I had cultivated there. Now, with my 20/20 hindsight glasses on, I understand they were giving me a gift. They pushed me, regardless of how unconscious it was, to stop being a girl and to start being a woman. Stop resting on my laurels. Box up those letter jackets, picture collages, and high school awards. It’s bittersweet, but my god, that abrupt end to childhood suddenly seems like such a blessing. A fresh start. To stop returning each holiday to a room that held everything that was.

Last night I was back on a plane returning to that gorgeous blanket of glittering lights. And when I slid into bed with Selemon, even in our temporary, rented apartment, I felt better than I ever have. And unlike sliding into an old childhood bed, that comfort wasn’t rooted in nostalgia. The good feelings weren’t borrowed from memories and friendships long ago past. I wasn’t relying on my history to fill me up. Instead, the sheets felt smooth and soft, my husband felt strong and sure, and all those good feelings? All that love? It was all grew from the excitement, the joy I feel, for our present and our future.

And for that, thank you, Mom and Dad. For boxing up the past and allowing (forcing?) me to feel loved and secure in what’s to come.

Which keeps me from writing on here because I don’t want to sound all gloomy for all the internet to read. But you know, we all get in funks so lets just accept that, give a hug to the world, and move on, amiright?

I don’t know what it is either. I’m annoyed Christmas is here already. Which is bizarre because I normally LOVE Christmas. I’m feeling really flustered by how quickly I have to buy presents (which is a stressful endeavor in itself) and get them all shipped and get our Christmas cards out even though the special stamps I ordered are still stuck out in San Jose, CA. etc etc etc. I’ve had all this time, but somehow I’m still caught off guard. How is that even possible?

As far as holiday cheer goes, would it be too much to ask for a little bit of snow over here, New York? One night we got some flurries that immediately melted upon hitting the ground. A childhood in the Midwest doesn’t allow me to feel like its Christmas without a solid 2 feet of white muffling all this noise and stress into a magical, quieter version of the world.

In the meantime I have been finding new things to love about New York. Andy Dwyer visited this past weekend and reported that my blog posts give the impression that I don’t love it here too much. And honestly, its complicated, but I really do. In fact, the night before he arrived I had typed up a whole post called “Love Letter” in which I listed all of the wonderful things that I adore about this city but I saved as a draft. The list keeps growing and always feels unfinished. I’ll hit publish soon though, I promise.

But today I keep thinking about three particular things I adore about this city, so I’ll start small and share those:

1. The Strand bookstore is filled with the tallest bookshelves. When you need a book beyond what your tippy toes can reach the staff shrug and say to grab a ladder. I go there on quiet nights when I want the company of books and drag my ladder through the stacks, climbing up when compelled and feeling like a badass, book-seeking, adventurer.

2. The subway can take you wherever. I can get on the subway and go to Queens or maybe the far stretches of Brooklyn? So much is within reach and that thrills me.

3. Today, due to my funk, I am going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Admission is based on a suggested donation so today I’ll be cheap and just pay $5 and spend the afternoon wandering through art because that always pulls me out of a bad mood. And the simple fact that I can cure a bad mood by wandering uptown and looking at some of the best art in the world is just stupid amazing. I promise I’ll never stop realizing how amazing it is.

I hope you all are enjoying the holidays and for my family- I’ll see you next week!

There is one thing that I can unequivocally say New York is the best place for: walking aimlessly

Well aimlessly might be an unfair description. The purpose of these city explorations can be: to avoid boredom, to listen to music and feel inspired and alive, to people watch, to discover a new (to me) neighborhood, to look at other people’s dogs, to lurk at other people’s children, to escape the presence of my fridge in which leftover enchiladas will not stop taunting me, to get a warm cup of coffee, to simply move.

See? Quite a few lovely aspects from these walks. And they have become my absolute favorite pastime.

Only downside: The soles of my boots (which I JUST had resoled) are already cracking. Consistent pounding of hard pavement is not what most shoes are made for, I’ve discovered.

These walks give me time to get outside our apartment, to explore, to breathe crisp air, to take full advantage of this amazing, electric city. I never love New York more than when I’m simply walking through it. Taxis are slow, jerky, sometimes smelly endeavors. Subways are underground and stale. But walks….walks are where the life is.

I’ve learned that the difference between an amazing day and a bad one is the simple decision to put on some jeans, a pair of boots, a cozy scarf and walking out the door with my headphones.

Now I’ll share some pictures of my recent jaunt across the Williamsburg bridge, which was the last Lower Manhattan bridge I hadn’t yet traversed via foot. I had initially walked out the door with no direction, but found my way here. It was a gorgeous 68* day and on the walk back into Manhattan the sun set. Oh my goodness, did that sun set in the most beautiful way.

This week we’re in a cold snap, but until Monday we were still frolicking around in 50 and 60* weather. Leaves were turning and holding hot coffee in my hands became a new hobby. I’ve taken a billion pictures, with a good amount posted on Instagram, so if you follow me there you might want to skip this post. There will be a lot of repeats. Gorgeous repeats though 🙂

I’ll never get enough of Washington Square Park

Jessica is a teacher and had Veteran’s Day off so we took a ferry to Ikea. I wrote about it earlier, but here are some pictures

I remember when Ikea came to Minneapolis. It was a huge deal, this foreign, Scandinavian behemoth setting up shop. We explored each little nook of the “apartments” and marveled at the Scandinavian ingenuity of installing shelves upon shelves and hidden shoe holders. It all seemed so foreign, so exotic to live in small spaces.

Then I moved to Manhattan.

Suddenly the square footage signs hit very close to home and the whole experience of Ikea shifted from a museum-like exhibit of far-away habitats to a very real exercise in how to live. Another transition for the books.

The return trip to Manhattan

Jess and I asked some strangers to take our picture. It was a perfect fall night.

I’ve been very slowly easing back into running. Very slow and steady. This means I get to take more pictures in pretty morning light.

Aren’t these trees lined up like pretty ladies all dressed up in their fall colors? Looking good, girls

The picture above is from “The Hive”, which is a brunch get-together organized by Feminist Dialogues. Basically, I spent a Saturday morning in a strangers apartment with a bunch of strangers talking about Masculinity, the topic of the month. It was sometimes awkward but mostly really great. I spend a lot of time meeting strangers from the internet, which is also known as “making friends” and “building community”. It always starts with a bit of trepidation but I leave feeling better, exhilarated, and a little more loved.

Do you guys know how we do parking lots in NYC?

Sunday morning walks. Selemon always sleeps in so I walk over to the coffee shop hoping they’ll have a discarded issue of the NYTimes, because those suckers are expensive. Last weekend was a bust on the newspaper front, but I brought my Kindle along and got a seat, so I considered it a success.

Ugh this park breaks my heart with gorgeous every.single.day

Morning run part 2

The carpet of yellow leaves gave me flashbacks to the Wizard of Oz.

And now, in the span of a week, some leaves have left. If it means more light bouncing off these buildings, I’m a-ok with it.